Fic - Of Mammoths and Colds
So, a really, REALLY hot minute ago, we did a "One Prompt - Five Authors" challenge and posted it to the blue forum. Each person would give one prompt and each of us would write a story.
Since then, the characters of my story have been living rent-free in my head and continued to write their story even though this was only meant to be a one shot. I'm not sure if I ever get to write the rest of their story here, but I've recently discussed those two idiots with snz and writing friends and so I decided to go back to the forum and retrieve this first part of their story.
I revised the text a little to bringt it up to speed with what I've planned for them in the long run.
The prompts were: Occupation: Museum Curator Cause: Illness Random: Heat Scenario: Ice skating rink
Please enjoy this blast from the past fic! And now without further ado....
Of Mammoths and Colds
Who on earth was responsible for the idea of having the opening for the new exhibition on “More than Survival – Ice Age Art and Culture” on an ice skating rink was something Dr. Nigel H. Sheridan would never find out – and believe me, he tried.
It seemed, however, that whenever he posed this question to any of the museum’s employees, they were befallen by a sudden bout of deafness and chose not to hear his question or abruptly changed the topic to whatever question lay at hand in preparation for the grand opening.
Why he had agreed to this plan, on the other hand, was another question altogether and frankly this was the greater mystery to him. To be fair, it sounded like a marvelous idea at first. Holding the opening gala for their new exhibition on an ice skating rink in the museum’s courtyard with a life-size mammoth skeleton put on display right at the centre of the ice skating rink, some of the more decorative pieces of Ice-Age art surrounding it…. and right in front of the mammoth would be Nigel’s spot in the limelight, giving his opening speech and cutting the red ribbon to open the exhibition to the public.
For him, this exhibition marked the peak of his career in many ways – regarding his position as the museum’s curator as well as his scientific profession, and he was therefore very proud of the fact that the exhibition would finally come to life in only a few weeks’ time. It had taken him several years of schmoozing countless foundation board members for financial support for his idea, as well as to beg other museum curators for loans of objects to complete his exhibition. The mammoth skeleton being the biggest and most important of them.
Additionally, he had worked relentlessly to persuade the mayor and several real estate managers to get the permission for excavations on the building site of the new Wechsler Hotel building complex where – as he had stated in numerous journal articles and at several conferences – he suspected to find remains of a shelter used by our Ice Age ancestors. His extensive research had led him to this spot again and again and in the end, his constant nagging had yielded success. Only three days after the excavation had begun, they had found their first artefact. Nigel had been over the moon with the discovery. The mayor had been as well since their city had suddenly become the center of attention. Even international reporters had turned up to cover this story.
Therefore, the mayor Mr. Beckett had suggested to have a bigger opening ceremony than was usual. Nigel had whole-heartedly agreed, and the ice rink concept sounded like the perfect, quirky venue to host such an exclusive opening gala. Until he had signed the contract and realised that to get his one, glorious moment of triumph and attention for his work, he somehow had to get to that darn spot in the limelight right at the center of the ice skating rink. The problem was: Nigel did not know how to ice skate.
Beckett had been his last hope. The man was even older than he was - past sixty already, Nigel was sure of that! - and Nigel was convinced that Beckett had no intention of wobbling on ice skates in front of everybody. However, as Nigel raised that question at one of their meetings, it turned out that the mayor went ice skating about once a week together with his two daughters spending quality time. Therefore, he would not hear anything of Nigel’s suggestions concerning a boardwalk or carpet for them to reach their ‘stage’ at the center of the ice skating rink.
To quote Beckett’s exact words: “I would not want to miss the pleasure of skating near a real life-size mammoth in front of the press for anything in the world. Just think about what a terrific image that would make for our reporters, Sheridan.” Yes…. Nigel was sure the local newspaper would love nothing more than seeing him slip and fall down face first on the ice next to a beaming mayor Beckett… It had not been easy and it had taken Nigel more than one evening of brandy and good long talks with himself as well as his best friend Julian before he had coaxed himself to admit that he needed to swallow his pride to ask for help with this ice skating dilemma. And suddenly, it dawned on him. He still had Wilkins. Wilkins was young, late-20s or early thirties at most, eager, and in dire need for guidance and the support from someone who was an expert and established in the field to open a few doors for him here and there, to get introduced to the right kind of people who could further his professional future and career. In short: Wilkins needed someone like Nigel.
Wilkins had been Nigel’s assistant for about a year and a half now and Nigel had to admit that he Wilkins was probably the best he’d ever had.
What Nigel liked to forget about, though, was that there was another side to that coin. As much as Wilkins needed him, Nigel needed someone like Wilkins. He was patient, clever, a fast learner and intelligent, but not too confident – and clearly not cocky enough to challenge the power relations Nigel wished to be established between him and his assistants. Nigel always wanted to be in control and expected 100% dedication and devotion from an assistant. Fortunately, Wilkins was willing to offer this and even put up with Nigel’s antics and idiosyncrasies. All in all, the two of them were the perfect match.
And fortunately, Wilkins knew how to ice skate like a young god. How Nigel knew about his assistant’s ice skating talents you wonder? The thing was at some point Nigel had been so desperate that he opened up to Wilkins about his dilemma. To Nigel’s surprise, Wilkins had offered help and told him that he had been the captain of a university ice hockey team for more than two years. Since Nigel was desperate and he had known Wilkins as a loyal, discreet person, he finally accepted.
~~~~~
“Dr. Sheridan?”
Wilkins’ soft voice jolted Nigel awake from an indistinct dream. He sat up, blinking confusedly before he stared into Wilkins’ searching eyes. My goodness, had he fallen asleep at his desk?
As it dawned on him that this had indeed been the case, he stared back at his assistant with the wide-eyed guilty conscience of a person who knew very well that they’d been asleep, yet tried to pretend otherwise. Nigel’s hand quickly found its way to his mouth, only to discover in horror that a tiny trail of saliva had run down from his mouth to his chin while he slept. He turned away in his chair, pretending to get one of the folders lined up on a shelf behind his desk while he tried to wipe away the trail with the cuffs of his button up shirt.
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to disturb your.. erm.. work…,” Wilkins said, just as embarrassed by the situation as Nigel himself. “I just wanted to ask whether you’ll still want to have a training session this evening?”
“Of course,” Nigel said, swivelling round with his chair to face his assistant once again. “Why wouldn’t I? We still have a lot of training to do before the grand opening.”
“I know…,” Wilkins said, visibly uncomfortable with how this conversation was going. “I just um…. Well.. I thought you might want to skip today’s session, since you’re not feeling well…”
“Not feeling well?” Nigel rose from his chair in indignation, but had to hold onto the desk for support since the sudden change of position so shortly after his nap had made his throbbing head swim with dizziness.
“I am sorry, Wilkins, but you must be mistaken. I am feeling perfectly fine… splendid in fact! And certainly more than up to our next training session this evening.”
He aimed for a casual tone of voice and tried to keep the conversation rather curt, hoping that Wilkins would leave soon, since a tickle deep down in his sinuses heralded a new set of sneezes rolling on.
The truth was that Nigel had been feeling under the weather since after their first training session last Friday. The ice skating hall had been freezing and the coat Nigel used to hurry from the tube to the museum and back had clearly proven to be too thin to withstand two and a half hours of ice skating training – a good deal of which Nigel had spent with his hands tightly clasped to the rail since he was too afraid of letting go and falling with Wilkins there to witness it all.
So they had spent the majority of their training going through the motions in theory, Nigel holding on to the rail for dear life, while Wilkins elegantly glided over the ice as if he’d been born with skates on his feet to show him what the theory of ice skating should look like in the end. Nigel, however, was not prepared to let go and give Wilkins the satisfaction of seeing him slip and fall on the ice. Having him there, flying across the icy surface as if his feet did not even need the ground to stand on, while Nigel himself was glued to the rail had been humiliation enough.
After this first humiliating evening, Nigel had decided to have some training sessions on his own. Wilkins had explained and shown him the basics after all, hadn’t he? However, Nigel might have been just a little too focused and obstinate in his endeavor. He had spent almost his entire weekend at the ice skating place, resulting in him being chilled to the bone for two straight days in a row. Not to mention the countless falls he had suffered. He had badly bruised his knee and his bottom was still sore on Monday from his first fall on Saturday. Stress and lack of sleep had done their part so yesterday Nigel had woken up to the beginning of the new week with a sore throat and a headache so drillingly loud that Nigel had been sure his employees saw his temples throb and pulse in pain.
The sore throat and headache had felt awful, yet Nigel would have given anything he had if he could go back to this state of the cold, because today, the sneezing had started. There had been one innocent little sneeze after he’d woken up – nothing to be concerned about. This sneeze however had cleared the path for a seemingly endless amount of ensuing sneezes, sliding down his runny nose, gaining momentum and intensity with every hour that passed. Nigel had done a good job of stifling most of the sneezes, but they had become so powerful and urgent at some point that his chest and throat hurt with every stifle he forced upon himself. So after lunch, Nigel had retreated to his office to get some of the paperwork done – which he had barley started working on before his tired, worn out body had fallen asleep right at the desk.
“Well if you are sure that you’re feeling up to today’s session, I’ll wait for you in the museum’s entrance hall after closing time.” Wilkins’ voice startled him out of his musings and back to the present.
“Thank you, I’ll be there,” Nigel said, trying not to wiggle his nose as the tickle surged against a spot deep in his sinuses, which made the delicate membranes in his nose quiver.
Wilkins nodded then turned to leave, but lingered for a moment, hand already reaching out for the doorknob. He hovered there for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, while Nigel prayed to his and any other gods out there that Wilkins would finally leave so that he could sneeze. The tickle had become so strong that his eyes started to water, and his breath came quick and uneven in a flurry of suppressed hitches. After what seemed like an eternity, Wilkins finally decided against whatever it was that he had wanted to do or say and left. Nigel sighed. Then sneezed immediately afterwards. Sudden, harsh and uncovered, misting the papers on his desk.
“Hiiyy’ESSHhU!… ISsHH!…Hihhh….Hi’yIDZzsSHU...” After the fit Nigel sank back into his chair, exhausted and with a handkerchief pressed against the underside of his angry pink nose. This would be a long day – and an even longer evening.
~~~~~
Only a few hours later, Nigel regretted how boasting he’d been about his health in his conversation with Wilkins. His health had considerably deteriorated within the last hours. A constant sheen of cold sweat clung to his burning forehead, resurfacing again and again no matter how often Nigel wiped it away with one of his handkerchiefs. His nose had turned a deeper shade of pink and was now almost flaming red. He felt absolutely miserable and if it weren’t for his fear of public humiliation and scorn from his assistant, Nigel would have gone home and straight to bed.
Instead, he had met Wilkins in the hall and trotted off together with him to the ice skating hall where he silently cursed himself for his own stubbornness as he struggled putting the skates on his feet. Wilkins was already on the ice, patiently waiting even though it took Nigel almost 15 minutes to get the skates on his feet.
“Ah, there you are!”, Wilkins said with a smile and glided over to the entrance of the ice skating rink once Nigel had managed to stalk there with the skates on his feet. Suppressing a grin, Wilkins held out both hands to help a tottering Nigel enter the icy surface. Nigel almost slipped as he’d set his second foot on the ice, but Wilkins’ gripped his hands firmly and managed to steady him.
“Wait… what are you doing?” Nigel realised in panic that Wilkins was gliding towards the center of the ice skating rink, taking him with him since they still held each other by the hands.
“I’m taking you ice skating. Last time, we had the theory. This time, I want you to try to perform the movements yourself.”
Nigel stiffened, turning more or less into a wooden stick on skates. He had never been this far away from the safe railing surrounding the ice, even during his lonely extra training sessions over the weekend. He could just thank his lucky stars that he had practiced on his own. Without this extra practice, he would not have even made it this far without falling despite Wilkins’ strong, well-meaning grip around his hands.
“That makes sense, of course, but I’d still prefer it if we could start from over there…” he pointed towards the railing with his chin, but Wilkins shook his head.
“You’ll never going to let go as long as the railing is within reach. Trust me, you can do it, Dr. Sheridan. In fact, you’re doing great. We’ve come thus far without a single fall.” He smiled reassuringly, but Nigel could only give a hollow scoff. Being dragged onto the ice by another person barely counted as doing great in his books.
“Do you remember what I told you about how to move your feet, Dr. Sheridan?” Nigel nodded and sniffled. Of course his nose had chosen this precise moment to start running again. “Great, then try to imitate those movements. I won’t let go, just try to move your feet while you glide with me… Yeah, just like that!… Now try bending your knees a little…”
With Wilkins’ help, Nigel managed several rounds around the ice skating rink without falling. To be honest he barely did anything other than move his feet here and there, while Wilkins was guiding them over the ice. From time to time, Nigel had to give in to a wet sniffle. He also felt uncomfortably warm and was wondering whether the thermostat of that place might be broken. Yet, the ice seemed fine – just as glossy and solid as when they had first entered the hall.
“Ok, I think you’re ready, Dr. Sheridan.” Wilkins’ words forced Nigel to concentrate on the outside world again.
“sniff What for?”
“Ready to try on your own,” said Wilkins and started to disentangle one of his hands from Nigel’s, who almost lost his balance and firmly held onto the other man in a sudden panic.
“What?! No!” Nigel almost shrieked.
“Dr. Sheridan…,” Wilkins said with an amused grin. “You’ll have to try and let go at some point, if you want to learn how to do it before the grand opening gala…”
Of course he was right. Nigel knew that he was in his heart of hearts, so he let go of the other man with a reluctant sigh, almost instantly losing his balance. He only managed to prevent a fall by wildly flailing his arms around like the parody of a windmill. He thought he’d seen Wilkins’ grin from the corner of his eye, but when he had regained enough of his balance to face the man, Wilkins just stood there with a neutral face.
“Ok, now that you’re on your own, just try to do what you did with your feet when we were skating together… don’t overthink it.. Let your body do the work, it will remember the motions.”
Nigel heaved a heavy sigh. From what it felt like, someone was drilling a hole right through his left temple with a blunt object, and he was a little dizzy from going round and round in circles. Additionally, it had become so unbearably hot in that ice skating hall that he felt sweat trickling down his back.
“Right then…,” he finally said after clearing his throat. The sooner he’d try, the sooner he’d be able to leave this horrible place and get home.
Arms outstretched for balance, he gave a first, tentative push with one of the skates. It sent him gliding forward in slow motion.
“Good, now let’s try the second foot… Give it another push.. yes, there you go!” Wilkins seemed delighted, and after Nigel had managed to push himself forward a few more times, he actually felt like he finally had achieved something. He went on for a few more minutes, edgily gliding across the ice in tentative motions with Wilkins closely following him with encouraging words.
And just as he thought that he would manage this blasted ice skating task after all, Nigel was suddenly gripped by an urgent need to sneeze. An army of hot needle pinches assaulted his poor sinuses, the tickle building fast, forcing him to heave a few quick breathes, greedily sucking in the cold air surrounding him, eyes half closed, mouth hanging open, head tilted back in preparation for what turned out to be a set of sneezes so forceful they pitched him forward.
“Heehh…hhiii…..hiiiiihhh?!….HIi-ISSHJU!!…Hii’yESHhU…. hii…HI’DJiZzsSHU!”
The first sneeze had set him off-balance and he had tried to safe himself by flailing his arms wildly again. Wilkins glided over to help, but by the time he reached Nigel it was already too late – the second sneeze sent Nigel falling down on his butt, the third sneeze hitting just as his backside kissed the hard, cold icy surface. Great. He had just sneezed himself off his feet and he could not think of anything that would be more embarrassing than this.
Well.. maybe there was one thing: seeing the bright grin on his assistant’s face as he looked up, Nigel’s own nose running and nostrils flaring in the aftermath of the sneezes.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?!,” Nigel complained indignantly, sniffling hard to ban the stuffiness from his voice.
“No, Sir!” Wilkins hurried to assure him, barely able to keep a straight face as Nigel tried to get up again, only to flop back onto the ice with a loud thud that actually sounded like it hurt.
“Damn it! Wilkins, don’t just stand there, help me.. hiii…mbeee…heee….Hii’YiSSSHUu!!.. sniff ugh… up…!”
“Right away, Sir!” Wilkins approached so elegantly that Nigel was sure he was doing it on purpose to mock his own ungraceful fall. Yet, he bit back the sneery comment that came to his mind, because he had no idea how he should ever get up again without Wilkins’ help. He was too far away from the rail to hold onto it and what was left of his dignity simply just forbade him to slide all the way from where he lay on the ice to the railing on his bottom like a one-year-old to get to the railing and be able to pull himself up again.
“Ok… here we go. Would you.. um… please give me your hand, Dr. Sheridan?” Wilkins tentatively held out his hand which Nigel grabbed and tried to use as a lever to help himself up, but he could not find a hold on the ice with the skates on his feet and flopped down on the ice yet again with a soft thud.
“Damn it, man! You need to pull harder.. I can’t get up if y..hhhhuu… youuhh…” Trailing off, his angry voice lost its edge and dissolved into a helpless, panting array of breathy little build up hitches right before another sneeze erupted out of him. “hiihh..hiii…..Hii’yESSsHu!..”
Suddenly, a tissue appeared in front of Nigel’s blurry vision, followed by Wilkins’ concerned face. “Bless you, Dr. Sheridan. Are you alright?”
“I’b fide…,” Nigel said less than convincing his voice muffled in thick congestion, which made it necessary for him to bury his nose in the tissue Wilkins’ had offered, before another sneeze escaped him. He had tried to stifle it but failed miserably.
“hiihh..Hi’Ng’DISshHJU!..”
“Bless you again,” Wilkins offered softly. There was a pause in which Nigel blew his nose again, very well aware of the fact that his assistant’s eyes rested upon him the entire time.
“I really think we should call it a night, Dr. Sheridan….”
Nigel looked up, his eyes meeting Wilkins’ concerned face.
“Mbaybe you’re right…,” he finally admitted with a defeated sigh. Wilkins skated closer and grabbed him by his arms. Somehow, they managed to pull Nigel’s body into a standing position again with joint effort. Nigel was shivering by now, his headache was killing him, and he was sure that he would have trouble to sit for the next few days after his ungraceful fall.
“Let me take you to the exit,” Wilkins offered, taking Nigel’s hands in his before he carefully skated towards the little door of the ice skating rink.
“You’ve got to probise mbe sobething…,” Nigel said, his voice a congested mess. “Dod’t ever tell anybody what happened here todight…”
A knowing smile crossed Wilkins’ face and he asked innocently: “Why? What happened tonight?”
Nigel sighed in relief. Wilkins really was the best assistant he’d ever had.
